Shit You Buy When You Have a Car

Let me first say I've noticed that "shit" seems to be appearing in posts fairly frequently, often in the title. Here's the thing, I LOVE the word. There's something about it that makes it so versatile. It's a noun, it's a verb, it can be used to describe a multitude of things. It's succinct and precise and I like to add a distinct stoccato when I say it. I spend a minimum of forty hours a week sidestepping with "stink" "shoot" and "dangit", the Splendas of the curse world. I don't care if it did "come from sugar" it is NOT sugar... and it leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

M'kay, back to the topic, shit you buy when you have a car. When you live in the city and you take the big metal germ boxes everywhere, it's a lot easier to talk yourself out of buying a LOT of shit. I don't need a dresser, I've got these lovely Rubbermaid bins. You know what's easy to carry home? PLASTIC! You know what's not? OAK! Art? Umm, frames are not only heavy but awkward to carry and easy to break. It's glass and it has pointy corners. No way that's making it 10 blocks home. Candles, lamps and bookshelves also fall under the "not a snowball's chance in hell is that worth lugging home" category. As a result, my apartments in Boston more or less always looked like I was 1. Just moving in; 2. Just moving out; or 3. Newly adopted to the freegan lifestyle (see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Freegan if you don't get that reference. It's some crazy hippie shit, but I kind of like that someone's using the shit people throw out for no good reason).

Out here in sunny California walking isn't an option. If you're a die hard cyclist dedicated to keeping your carbon footprint neutral, (common term being "overachiever") than you bike to work. You also wear exceptionally tight shorts. Please stop doing that. The rest of us drive our automobiles all through the town. The magical thing about my car is that it transports not only myself but all of the shit I manage to find while I'm out and about. Suddenly end tables, wine racks, blanket chests, abstract prints and glass serving bowls are making their way into my trunk at an alarming rate. I now have more canned goods, back-stocked conditioner and oversized shelving than any sane single woman should own. Frozen fruit, paper towels and Grey Goose vodka are welcome in Costco size.

Naturally, I look around and wonder "how the hell did all this shit get here?". Six months ago I had 3 mugs, a portable dvd player and a fold-up papasan chair. How did I manage to fill 600 square feet? Don't go staging an intervention, I'm not turning into a hoarder (though apparently I have been watching a little too much cable). The shit that comes through the door is waning and I do take a certain satisfaction in the furnished home that I've created. Friends/family: Come visit me sometime and see for yourself. But, leave your shit at home, I've got enough already.